


Later is Now

by DesertVixen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 15:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15910632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/pseuds/DesertVixen
Summary: Gaby is on the outside, looking in at Napoleon and Illya...





	Later is Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TerresDeBrume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Later](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13720851) by [TerresDeBrume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerresDeBrume/pseuds/TerresDeBrume). 



She hadn’t seen whatever Napoleon had seen, but Gaby trusted him enough to move when he did. There were surely enough threats against the three of them – never mind whoever they were working for – to be wary, She’d tackled the man she was responsible for, pushing him to the ground, keeping him safe with her body. 

And she had watched as Napoleon leapt in front of the window. Or rather, between danger and Illya. 

Gaby had seen the blood blooming on Napoleon’s arm as the pair of them crashed to the ground. 

Someone had shot at them – at Illya, most likely – and would have succeeded if not for Napoleon.

They might have ended their team.

*** 

They were a solid team, even if they didn’t work quite like other teams. 

Gaby knew that part of the reason for keeping her on the team was the fact that she looked harmless, helped make Napoleon and Illya look harmless, although Napoleon needed less help with that. He could put on the useless-man-of-fashion act as easily as breathing, while Illya found it difficult to conceal his…intensity, Gaby decided was the best word. It was convenient to have a female spy, or to pose as a couple – a role she had played with both of them more than once.

In Rome, Gaby had thought there was a spark between her and Illya, but nothing had come of it – possibly because there was a flame between him and Napoleon Solo.

How many times had she watched the two of them and thought they should get a room? The sniping at each other, the constant bickering banter and nicknames calculated to get under the other’s reserve, the tension that weighed down the air.

Like today, when Napoleon saved Illya’s life. Gaby had seen him make an impossible jump despite injuries from an encounter earlier in the mission, seen him hit the floor hard, bleeding. 

And she had seen the look in Napoleon’s eyes when he crouched in the hallway, holding Illya’s face in his hands, ostensibly checking for injuries. “Ostensibly” had been a total lie, of course.

Then, because Napoleon could never resist having the last word, could not deal with the possibility that someone might see him having a normal emotional moment, he had covered himself with a quip.

“Damn, that suit was Balenciaga.” There’s a hole in the sleeve of the Balenciaga now, and bloodstains, but U.N.C.L.E. has some very good laundry facilities.

“Jackets do seem to be rather unlucky for you,” Gaby said, to lighten the mood before they get down to business. Their missions are a little hard on the wardrobe, but he has lost three jackets that she knows of – and probably more she does not know about.

Napoleon jokes to cover the tension, while Illya glares at everything as if he can solve all his problems by breaking them. Gaby just wants to get back to a safe place, where they can relax and get into something more comfortable.

A place where they can be themselves instead of being whatever U.N.C.L.E. needs them to be today. Some of their disguises fit better than others, but some don’t really fit at all, clinging like wet clothing. 

The two of them will still be pushing at each other, she knows – that never stops. Even when she goes into the bathroom to shed all of her disguise, she can still hear them going at each other. She can even picture it in her head – Napoleon rattling around in the cupboards because cooking soothes and settles him, and because Illya is telling him not to.  
Until she can’t hear anything at all. 

When Gaby comes out of the kitchen, Napoleon is alone in the kitchen, picking up a bag of rice that has fallen on the floor.

“Where’s Illya?”

“He decided to take a nap,” Napoleon tells her.

Not that Gaby believes that for an instant. Sometimes she isn’t even sure the Russian sleeps. Ever.

“Seems like you should do the same.” Even if he won’t admit it, Napoleon needs to rest. “Give the painkillers a chance to work.”

“They‘ll go down easier with some food in my stomach.”

She can’t really argue with that one. Instead, she pours a glass of wine and sits in the kitchen with him. Gaby finds all the work associated with cooking to be an annoyance, but he actually enjoys it. She can see the tension draining away as he chops and sautes and stirs with his good hand. The chicken and risotto is simple and elegant, and the smell pulls Illya into the kitchen to join them. 

If he took a nap, she’s the Queen of England.

She can tell by the way he’s watching Napoleon that he’s worried, that he is blaming himself because Napoleon took a bullet for him. Napoleon, of course, can’t resist making snarky comments as if to demonstrate that he is fine – just fine – trying to drag Illya out of his mood by calling him Peril twenty times more than usual.

But underneath all of it, she can sense the tension, the longing, and hopes that when it explodes none of them will be hurt.

They make quite the team, after all.

She doesn’t want to lose that team, to lose either of them because they couldn’t handle it.

*** 

Later, when they have all eaten and she and Illya have convinced Napoleon that taking a painkiller is not optional, Gaby settles down in bed. It’s been a hellish and unsatisfying day, and all she wants to do is fall asleep and forget. Of course, this means her mind wants to examine the scene a hundred more times.

She is just about to drift off when she hears a creaking in the hallway. When she eases her door open, she sees Illya’s form – one of the two she would know anywhere – slipping into Napoleon’s room. She can just barely hear Napoleon’s voice, asking if now is later.

It’s about damn time, she thinks. Before she gets back under her covers, Gaby decides to turn off the alarm she had set to check on Napoleon later. 

She has the feeling they will be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it! I don't ship Napoleon/Illya, but I loved the way your story made me see the possibilities in it, and I enjoyed looking at it through Gaby's eyes.
> 
> I also tried to pay homage to my 3 favorite things in this story.  
> 1\. The Balenciaga line - I had to borrow it because that one made me hear Napoleon in my head. And he does have bad luck with jackets.  
> 2\. The clothing allusion, of course, hits at your line about "peeling covers at the door like drenched raincoats" - I really liked that image.  
> 3\. _There is, at this moment, no word in the English language Napoleon likes half as much as later_ \- I thought this was an awesome closing line.


End file.
